Eons
by SnowRedWings
Summary: There's nothing left of the world. Albert Wesker finally succeeded and Uroboros has ravaged the land. Only few remain in the world of his creation, and survival gets harder every day. Jill Valentine won't escape his grasp for long.
1. Wanderer

The desert was a wasteland. Parched sand as far as the eye could see. Everything was hot there - the abrasive breeze, what little shade wreckage of old trucks provided, the rock she sat on. That was all that was left of anything. The earth had reclaimed itself.

Yet she still remained in this hellish place. It was safe, open. She could see those eternally hungry monsters coming from miles away, and she would rather die fighting than be caught by surprise.

Jillian had taken to traveling alone. She wore a backpack full of basic survival gear, a machete dangling from her belt attached via zip tie wrapping around the sheath, and a pistol strapped to her leg. The blade kept her strong, alive. Weapons jammed when they weren't properly cleaned or sometimes for no reason, and sand was an accident waiting to happen. That meant certain death. No, she was too prepared for that. She didn't have any ammo anyways. The last encounter with those_things_ drained her of every last precious bullet she had carefully hoarded. The pistol served as a reminder, a tool she hung on to just in case she came across more ammo. It was unlikely, but the hope was still there.

The group she previously traveled with was too comfortable in their little fort composed of broken buildings and ragtag survivors. Too at ease for what was happening around them. They were a lively bunch that survived off of a decent stockpile and a garden growing in the bed of a truck, most of them around her own age. They had begged her to stay but eventually let her go, pressing bottles of water and packets of preserved food into her arms with their blessing. Jill knew they wouldn't last much longer. Not with the creatures that abandoned the now empty cities in search of more prey. Still, she wished them well and retreated into the shifting sands.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she screwed the cap back on her canteen and straightened her spine, sighing softly when it popped and relieved some of her tension. The days blended with one another, memories all lumped into one never-ending nightmare. The sun came and went but people hardly slept comfortably anymore, or not at all. She never slept and it fucked with her head. Fear kept her from resting, terrors kept her from sleeping. Jill was constantly on the move here, a wheel that continuously turned even while everything crumbled around it. And she saw things, illusions brought on by the insanity of her mind and the heat of the desert. People that were long since dead. Shimmering shapes that called to her, and she could almost hear their voices. _Almost._

Getting back to her feet, she clambered into the bed of the broken vehicle and pulled her binoculars up to her eyes. In the distance, there was a cluster of buildings with sand blowing from the rooftops. She watched for a long time and when she saw no movement, made that her goal. Jumping back into the sand, she pulled her boots up from the grit and began the long trek across the dunes. Though her mind dreaded the thought, she needed to stop for a day or two to let herself recover. Jill mused that she was tired enough that she wouldn't dream, and if she set up some defenses, then she would be safe to succumb to the heaviness pulling at her eyelids and weighing down her legs.

The sun was hanging low over the horizon when she finally arrived at the ramshackle town, pulling her hood down low over her eyes to keep the light from blinding her. There were no signs of people or monsters, a good indication that she would be safe for the night. Upon closer inspection, one of the doorways was smeared with dried black ooze that she scraped at with the edge of her blade. It was hard to tell how old it was with the elements working at it, but the creature that left it was long gone. The blonde shifted inside and lifted the fallen door back to its resting place.

It was a small diner. Sand had collected a few feet inside but the rest of the place was only covered in a fine layer, much to her relief. Inspecting the small dining alcoves as she passed, Jill's fingers drifted from each gritty table top to the next. Plates still lay on those tables within the dirty booths, no traces of the half eaten food that would have remained. A smirk played around the edges of her lips. The monsters were getting desperate then, to eat something so far from their regular diet. Though survivors were few and far between, the ones that remained knew how to kill the beasts that had wiped out a good piece of the human race.

Jill hesitated when she came across a splatter of blackened blood at the toes of her boots. It tainted the floor and the wall of the small bar that separated the booths from the area for the wait staff. A smear of a hand print decorated the seat of a stool and she tore her gaze away before she could read too far into it. Whoever had died was long gone and she refused to feel terrible about not helping them. And even if she had, there weren't enough supplies in her knapsack to keep them both alive for long. Alone she would last for months.

Continuing her overview of the building, she found it to be entirely empty. The kitchen had been raided and nothing but spoiled goods remained. She put it all in the freezer to avoid smelling them, her cowl pulled over her mouth and nose to keep the vile odor from violating her senses. After that was finished, she went about taking one of the tables down from its height and resting it across the worn faux leather seats. It spanned the gap perfectly and she removed her long cloak to throw over the backs of the booth, weighing it down with napkin dispensers. Now she had a place to sleep, shaking out her sleeping roll before spreading it over the table. Removing another table top, she used her machete to cut holes in the seats to allow it to sit securely. When that was finished, she had herself the perfect place to rest and hide out from anything lurking around outside.

Slumped over in the cocoon of safety she had made for herself, Jill picked at the tin of rations with little interest. It was bland and tasteless with the texture of soggy mashed potatoes. She only ate it because survival depended on it, and each bite was followed by a small sip of water to rid her mouth of the tacky substance. With some considerable debate, she wondered if she could stay there for a few more days without being discovered. A greater part of her wanted nothing more than to keep following the setting sun until she hit the ocean, to keep going. But what would she find? There was nothing left out there, or she assumed. Anything would be better than hiding out in a run down town and starving to death, potentially being discovered by the BOWs Albert Wesker had created.

Her hands curled around the tin tightly and she scowled at the split in the seat of the booth. He wandered into her thoughts for the first time in months, and she hated it. Hated him more than she ever had before. He had killed Chris, his new partner Sheva, innocent people and nearly herself. Jill was lucky enough to escape because of her old partner's sacrifice. He wasn't as fortunate, and the details that surrounded his death were a foggy unknown. A question she would never have answer to. After the mission failure, things spiraled out of control at an alarming rate - no amount of preparedness slowed the process. Uroboros spread rapidly and the world fell apart despite the best efforts of the BSAA, the military.. everyone. Wesker had finally won. His reward was a planet full of nothingness. A ball of waste littered with his mistakes and he was the ruler of it all. The God of hell. Lucifer would be proud.

Jill chewed her food with a bitter expression, wondering what that snake was up to with his time now. Probably rejoicing his victory, talking to himself about what a good job he did. Patting himself on the back since there was no one else to do it anymore. She guessed there were others alive, people he selected to remain with him as the old earth collapsed and his creation rose from the ashes. Albert wasn't the type to let his work go without admiration, his accomplishments go without recognition. He was the type that needed affirmation.

Setting the empty container aside, she rolled up in her sleeping bag with her knees drawn to her chest. With the last clear thoughts in her mind, she hoped that they would cross paths again. Then she would exact revenge for herself, her friends, Christopher and the rest of the human race. Even if it cost her life.


	2. Phase One

She could only run so far, only travel so fast. It didn't matter where she tried to flee to, he would always find her. He let her escape time and time again, let her think she was under his radar and finally free. An illusion of safety and confidence that, with time, he would slowly leech away until nothing remained and she would fall back into his grasp like a tattered doll. Her basic whereabouts were pinpointed down to some place in the Nevada desert, in a not so direct beeline towards the western coast of the United States. How she returned to that country without his detection, he did not know – but the knowledge was trivial. Albert would have her either way.

"She hasn't moved in two days, sir." The tracking officer's voice droned, heavy mask negating his tone. He flared his nostrils in response and clasped his hands behind his back, fingers gripping his wrist tightly. There was no fear that she had discovered the tracking device implanted in her skin, a simple chip that allowed him to keep track of his pet. In case she went wayward while under the influence of the p30. It was a simple fail safe that proved to be unneeded at the time and benefitted him greatly now.

"The device is still functioning properly?" He inquired, sounding almost bored. The officer nodded, gloved fingers flying across the holographic keyboard. For a short period of time, there was cause to believe the chip had been damaged when Christopher Redfield crudely yanked the p30 administration device from her but they had simply been out of range. Once she was close enough, the tiny red dot appeared on the radar and the hunt truly began. A slow smirk curled his mouth and he set about to pacing the floor. If they were to move on her now, they would nab her up kicking and screaming. If he were to beset his creations on her, she would fight until either victory was achieved or she died a terrible death. If she did win, she would be fatigued and unable to fight the men he sent down for her, unable to run from them. All of the options were suitable but none of them appealed to him. Wesker wanted to see the look on her face for himself.

"I'll go fetch the little errant pup." The fingers on the keyboard paused and the officer turned to look at him through the red lenses of his mask. He watched the leather clad back retreat through the door on the other side of the room without a word.

The elements had no effect on him as he approached the rundown building where his target lay hidden. The sand that filled his shoes only offered annoyance and the more that spilled into the once finely polished loafers, the more irritated he was. When he finally arrived at the run down building she was holed up in, Albert was positively seething. Just like before, her body would bear the brunt of his anger. There would be no satisfaction in the way she screamed, only when she fell silent and stared at him, blue eyes burning with the absolute hatred he lived on. That was the way it should be, the way it always had been.

The door fell heavily to the floor, a wave of sand drifting across the warped tiles. He spotted the nest she made for herself immediately, victorious smirk still firmly set in place as he waltzed through the diner. His gloved hand extended and curled around the brown canvas garment and he yanked it away, metal napkin dispensers clattering loudly to the floor. She wasn't there, and only then did Albert realize he made a critical mistake.

"Wesker." Her voice was a low hiss in his ear, the metallic bite of a blade nipping at the flesh of his neck above the high collared jacket he wore. He chuckled darkly to disguise is outrage. Jill Valentine had snuck up on him. Though he had hidden it well, his body stiffened when her hand curled around his shoulder. Only the machete kept him from turning to grab her. "I wonder if you'll live if you lose your head… Hmm. Should we find out?" Her grating voice continued, the edge of the blade pressing a bit tighter against his skin.

"Jillian, you're dreaming." His response was immediate and interrupted her train of thought. The hand that gripped his shoulder loosened slightly and the breath that wisped over the back of his neck stopped for a moment. She was dehydrated and malnourished, easily influenced. Easy to control, corrupt. And that moment of hesitation was all he needed; he brushed the weapon away and turned to face her. She was crouched on the counter, staring at him with a puzzled expression and conflict raging in her eyes.

"I'm not dreaming. You're really here." She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself, tell her frazzled mind that he was real. Not a figment of her dreams, not an illusion brought on by madness. Albert urged himself to offer her a smile and step closer. She didn't shy away or flinch, but her eyes narrowed slightly and she lifted her weapon.

"Why would I be here, dear heart? How would I have possibly found you?" The hesitation was growing and her face fell into a mask of sudden apathy. Jill lowered herself to sit, the machete clattering against the counter top. Victory still tasted so sweet, an addictive nectar that dribbled down the back of his throat like ecstasy. Albert smirked when she lowered her gaze and sighed softly, shoulders hunching forward. Outside, a sharp gust churned up the sand and sent more fluttering through the open door. Within moments, he had it closed. The blonde hadn't moved from where he left her. The sun bleached her hair even whiter, toning out the brassy look that the cryotank had left her with. Her skin was untouched by the sun, still like cream though she had been so often exposed. He stared down at her for a long moment, noting how her eyelashes brushed against the tops of her cheekbones.

"You're thinner." He commented out loud, voice speculative. Of course she was thinner, a voice chimed in the back of his mind. She was starving out here in the desert, running away from the humans infected by Uroboros. The beings that hungered for her flesh, the beings he had created. He didn't care. He didn't feel sympathy for her or regret his actions. This was what he wanted, the world he desired. Perhaps his only regret was not keeping her under a tighter leash, hiding her away from Christopher instead of sending her to battle him on that night so long ago. This would have never happened and she would have never escaped his grasp.

"No shit. I wonder why that is." She tilted her head back and stared at him, blue eyes accusing in the darkness of the diner. Albert found it interesting that she so easily believed his blatant lie about this being a dream. It made him curious at just how much he could get away with. Almost of its own accord, his gloved hand lifted and he brushed his knuckles across her jawline. Jill laughed bitterly.

"You're right. This is a dream." He arched a brow and she laughed again. "You'd never touch me. I'm _unworthy,_ remember?"

Albert chuckled darkly and wrapped that same hand around her throat. A low noise of discomfort escaped her lips when he leaned close, his lips almost brushing her ear.

"I've touched you plenty, Valentine." He hissed, fingers feeling out the ridges of her windpipe. She was limp in his grasp, compliant. Her breathing was labored against the side of his face, almost erotic as she struggled to inhale passed his powerful grip. "Remember when I fucked you in the lab, bent over that operating table? You begged me to. Pleaded for me like a little whore."

Jill struggled against his grip, and he squeezed her throat harder. She stopped immediately, her hand feeling around on the countertop for the blade she had released moments before. Albert tossed it away with a simple flick of the wrist. It landed with a heavy thud on the scuffed linoleum, creating a small puff of sand that settled shortly after.

"Did you beg Christopher the same way? Did you spread your legs for him and mew like a kitten until he had his way with you? That crude beast was good enough for you?" She wheezed out a small sob, quivering like a leaf clinging to a tree in the fall. Quaked like she was going to fall apart at the seams if he released her. A flash of silver caught his eye and he released her throat to grab her wrist before the barrel of a tarnished pistol collided with his temple.

"At least he was a man and didn't rape me." Wesker smashed his teeth together in absolute fury, unwilling to prevent the back of his hand colliding with the side of her face. The force of the slap sent her sliding a few inches down the counter but his grip on her wrist kept her from going too far. She whimpered loudly before she gathered herself, jerking her head back to glare at him. A bright splash of crimson stained her milky skin, her nose bleeding from the impact of his blow. Her cheek was an angry purple and red, a beautiful bruise already rising up on the swollen skin. When she tried to wipe the blood away, he caught her other wrist to prevent her from doing so. It trickled over her lips and down her chin, dripped like syrup to stain the fabric of her shirt. It fascinated him, that flow of viscera that stood in such sharp contrast on her flesh.

She was glaring at him, hatred curling her lips into a snarl and burning at him from the depths of her clear eyes. Jillian was always the one to wear her heart on her sleeve, careless and easily swayed by her emotions. And he was always there to take advantage. Wesker leaned forward to lick the blood from her chin. She jerked back and shivered, fighting against the shackles his hands became.

"Don't fight me, Jill." He breathed seductively, towering over her. He transferred one of her wrists to his other hand, holding her prisoner. She tried to yank away again and he shook his head slowly. "Be a good girl."

For a dream, it was incredibly vivid. The pain from his backhand was sharp and throbbing, hazing over her mind like an alcohol induced fuzz. It was hard to think, hard to comprehend what exactly was happening. She was so tired; her eyes fluttering briefly when his tongue snaked out to wipe her lips clean. She shuddered in revulsion.

The last time Wesker was this close to her, p30 was raging through her body and controlled her every nerve. Bent her to his command, forced her to submit to his will. Her mind screamed in protest while her body begged for more, obliged him at every turn. When his teeth gently tugged at her bottom lip, willing her mouth to open for him, she caved and gave him what he wanted. Perhaps she did so out of reflex, Jill didn't know. She had lost herself so long ago and nothing in her head made sense. His free hand wrapped around her chin and held her face firmly against his while he explored every soft centimeter of her mouth. When he pulled away, she wasn't the only one breathing hard. There would be no reprieve from the contact, no relief from the strange tide of emotion that raged within, his mouth shifting to roughly graze at her left cheekbone and slowly sliding downwards.

His fingers were rough against her skin, tearing apart her clothes as if they were butter. His teeth were sharp against her neck, tongue laving at the wound he had created. Gentle suction urged more blood to the surface and he nursed it away. Her response was a soft whimper. Albert almost took it as an encouraging response and trailed his sticky mouth over the exposed skin of her shoulder. Jill was soft under his hands, yet another contrast between them. She was overtly feminine, delicately curved while he was hard muscle, all slants and sharp edges. Ultimate tributes to their sex.

He was not caressing her as much as he was inspecting, hands explorative as they roamed over the expanse of her chest and the dip of her upper abdominals, floated over the ribs that expressed themselves against the plane of her torso. When his hand dipped lower, her stomach retreated from his touch. She shook her head ever so slightly and squeezed her eyes shut. He smirked against her skin.

"You will learn to give me what I want, Jillian. Or I will destroy you."

Then he was shoving her away, pressing her down against the counter, hands around her throat. His lips were moving but she couldn't hear a word. Those sunglasses had slipped down the narrow bridge of his nose and demonic eyes glowed like embers at her in the darkness. Those all-consuming eyes were the last thing she saw before she slipped into the dark waters of unconsciousness.

Albert boarded the air ship with Jillian draped in his arms, tattered clothes exposing her body. None of the masked guards spared so much as a glance at her frail form. He walked with purposeful strides and dumped her on the bed in the small holding cell, pausing only for a moment. She gave a small whimper and he threw the blanket over her, hiding her neglected body and blood smeared face from view.

Phase one was complete.


	3. Games

Colors blurred together, edges fuzzy and weaving until one was the other. Voices danced on the edge of hearing, soft whispers that eluded her best efforts to gather what they were saying. The voices slowly faded into the sound of her own beating heart and Jill was suddenly aware of the ache in her bones, the throb of her face, the cool steel beneath her exposed back.

Blue eyes shot open and were met with the unfamiliar black steel ceiling of the cell she was in. Pushing herself up to sit, Jill gave a cry of utter agony. _Not again. Please._ It was too late for mercy now, and her legs pulled to her chest, nails setting against the flesh of her wrists. The self-inflicted pain was bitter and only made her much more aware. As suddenly as the fear overwhelmed her, it was gone.

This was where she wanted to be. She had prepared herself for this. Cooled her anger and quelled the insanity that lingered just on the other side of her eyelids. She was smiling when the object of her obsession entered the small cell. She was still huddled on the bench, shivering more from the cold than emotion.

"Jillian." He greeted her with that same, lilting voice. Slowly she lifted her head and met his shaded gaze. Her lips turned downward in a bitter frown. Her sun-bleached hair fell across her vision as she shook her head and he arched a curious brow.

"My name is Jill. Only one man could ever call me Jillian, and he's gone now." His expression darkened behind those shades and she simply looked away, unperturbed by the look that once made her tremble with fear.

"Do you believe you have the right to tell me what to do?" He sounded almost amused, but she knew better. Underneath the barest scrap of humor lurked a beast that was waiting to strike, waiting for a reason to lash out. No, she knew better this time around.

"I won't respond to anything else." He was suddenly there, gloved hand curled around her neck as he easily lifted her from the fetal position she was huddled in. She stared down at him with a smirk playing around her lips, almost as if she were daring him. The sunglasses he wore did nothing to hide the fiery orbs now as she saw clear over them.

"You will do as I say." Then he was gone and she was lying on the cold floor, riddled with more bruises than she dared to count.

He had taken to only ordering her about, using no title to address her – only a jerk of his head in her direction. He kept her close at all times, always two steps behind him. It brought back memories of a time long ago, a not so fond cycle of the life that consistently brought them back together. Only now she wore a dark gown that barely reached her knees, held about her slender frame by two thin straps on her shoulders. She wore her fair hair down, flowing around her face like a halo. It was ridiculous. If she had any free time to herself, she would have cut the tresses short just to irritate him.

That was their entertainment. Mindless ribbing that often turned violent.

He didn't hurt her like he used to. Only grabbed her and shook her once, gripped her chin and almost begged of her obedience like she was a fragile doll made of the most delicate of china. Jill was losing her mind – in those moments she wore that she could see parts of his old self resurfacing, if only for a brief second. She knew him too well for her own good and it hurt. The feelings she thought were gone, replaced by a bitter resentment and an all-consuming rage, were still there. Lurking for the perfect moment to reignite and catch her by surprise.

She had an obligation to herself, to her fallen teammates, to humanity. A duty to end the tyranny he began and finally free herself of the shackles he slapped around her wrists. His imprisonment of her soul started long before Kijuju, back in a time that seemed more like a dream than a distant memory.

"You are quiet tonight." His voice broke her reverie from where she sat on the couch, perched on the opposite end from him. She didn't steer her gaze to look at him, watching the clouds outside the bay windows instead. His long leather clad legs were hovering on her peripherals; she only needed to see that much of him. They were in a giant airship, maintained on a skeleton crew. Constantly airborne, they were safe from the monsters he had created on the planet's surface. A God afraid of his own creations; it was almost biblical.

"Why don't you talk to your crew members?" Jill found herself asking, tilting her head slightly in his direction if only for the politeness of conversation.

"They are workers. I only speak to them when the situation demands it." Wesker didn't look up from the book in his gloved grip, flipping the pages with a flick of his wrist. It was his old research journal, she suddenly realized. The binding was familiar, the leather showing age his face did not.

"Why am I here?" She murmured, knowing he could hear her just fine. That was the thing about this bright eyed demon. He was supernatural, a hollow being in the shape of a man. His insides were rotten and the foul darkness that permeated his innards was leaking out to stain his icy white skin. His ears were sharp and his tongue was even sharper, keen to deliver cutting words that stuck in her skin like an infection. He looked up then, staring at her for a long moment with his mouth pressed into a flat line. Jill wondered if he knew the answer.

"I have plans for you." She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and rose from her seat, moving to look down at the world. Her hand pressed against the tempered glass and she sighed so quietly, it was almost silent to her own ears.

"Of course, sir." Was her delayed response, voice flat. There would always be plans. Albert Wesker was a meticulous man that needed to be occupied with charts and information. She was just another walking experiment waiting to happen. Disappointment was the first emotion that cropped out at her in her mind, wriggling around on her brain like a livewire. She shoved it aside. Emotions were not safe to wear around him – he could detect the slightest change in her expression and work it against her. It was a pain Jill was more than happy to temporarily avoid.

"With P30, I owned only your physical being. This time, I will own all of you without question." He had ghosted to stand behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his torso against her shoulder. Her hand slipped from the glass and left the barest impression of her fingerprints. With forlorn abandon, she watched it fade. Just like that foggy impression, she too would disappear to nothingness. Wesker would consume her until there was nothing left.

"There was a time when you did." There it was again, that lack of filter on her tongue that had her blurting out the first thing that came to mind. It had been a long time since she had been so impulsive – dating back to the days when he was her captain and she was the willing subordinate. He had been dead set on breaking her of the habit. He was unsuccessful and that made him hate her even more.

It was quiet for so long that she thought he had left her alone in the vast seating room, only to turn and find that he was still standing within her personal space. The thought almost made her laugh – Wesker and personal space did not exist in the same spheres of reality. If he wanted to be close to her, he would be and he would not ask for her permission. He was a 'god' and this was his world now. She was a lowly creature not worth his attention, or so he had once led her to believe. This was a different form of the man that she called Master. He responded to her when she asked questions, he often conjured up conversation on his own. Whatever he was up to left her hovering carefully at arm's reach, trying to figure out just what he was up to. Many times she had dared to venture the thought that he was lonely. He had nothing except her. The old toy he was so desperate to make shiny and new again.

"When I was weak, powerless." He spoke the words as if they were the filthiest of curses, face warping into a mask of disgust. That was another thing that had changed. He wasn't disguising the emotions he did retain – anger, disgust, a sense of accomplishment. Jill was marveling at the wonders of the demon. Who was he becoming?

"Seems I'm the only one who's remotely the same. Pitiful and frail." His hand clamped on her shoulder and spun her about to face him, moving to grip her chin in the same typical fashion she was used to. He held her firmly, but never hard enough to leave a bruise. Just enough to get her attention, to raise her pale blue eyes to his fiery reds.

"You were frail but never pitiful." Then he released her and she was left alone, gaping after him with much more than confusion riding on her sleeve.

She was sleeping soundly when he returned, curled on the mattress with her slender hands tucked beneath her face. She always slept better when he wasn't around. Her face was softened, the hardness of her lips whisked away by the mask of sleep. A single hand reached out, exposed without the usual leather glove, to brush away the stray hairs clinging to her face. She had filled out some since she had joined him aboard the ship, but she was still a shadow of who she once was. Parts of her soul were missing and she never smiled, not at him at least. In her dreams, she found the emotions she seemingly lost. Her lips often curled into the tiniest ghost of the expression, but always when she was resting. Insane curiosity bubbled in his mind. What was she dreaming about?

The tip of his index finger smoothed over her bottom lip and she sighed softly against his hand. He jerked back and left her to sleep. She would be his again. He would not stop until she was.


End file.
